


Baring his sole

by PenguinofProse



Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya - Time Jump, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Soulmates AU of the time jump. Bellamy has Clarke's name on his foot. Angst, fluff, and incongruous flip-flop wearing.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764070
Comments: 27
Kudos: 207





	Baring his sole

**Author's Note:**

> Did the world need another Bellarke soulmate AU? Did I need to write another variation on the time jump? I think we all know the answer to that.
> 
> Note that there are some references to suicide in this story, consistent with what we see in canon.
> 
> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

In the old days, soulmates were everywhere. Bellamy knows the stories, of Helen abandoning hearth and home to pursue her soulmate Paris to Troy, of Antony turning his back on everything right and proper to live with Cleopatra in Egypt. They are some of his favourite tales, those he used to tell to Octavia on long lonely nights trapped in their quarters, but stories like this are also the reason soulmates are rarer, these days. They caused too much trouble, and the human race evolved to avoid the pain. Soulmarks became smaller, more discreet, tucked away on the crease of a knee or kept covered on the curve of a hip. In most cases they disappeared altogether, until today, when fewer than a handful in any hundred people have a soulmark, and the chances of both parties having one are tiny.

Bellamy understands the decay of soulmarks, now, as he finds himself soaring skywards in a century-old rocket and leaving his soulmate to her fate on the burning Earth. As he feels his heart crumble into ash, he is only too aware that having a soulmate is nothing but a recipe for excruciating pain.

In fact, he can feel a more physical stinging in the sole of his left foot, too. That's where Clarke's name is printed, and that's where Clarke's name is presumably fading away, right this very moment, exactly as she burns on the Earth down below. Everyone knows that a soulmark disappears if your soulmate dies.

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to look at his own left foot again.

He's not sure he'll be able to look at himself in the mirror, either. In fact, he thinks, as he feels gravity lose its grip on his body, he's not sure he'll even manage to look any of his friends in the eye, now, in the time after Clarke.

…...

Bellamy cries a lot, that first day.

That's what sticks with him. Not the mad panic to get the oxygen working, nor the fear of death it inspires – to be honest, if he dies at this point, he figures that'll serve him right. That's only fair, considering he's such a monster that he left his soulmate to go up in flames.

He was trying to use his head, he seems to remember. She wanted him to do that. He was trying to be rational and get his people to safety. He _had_ to do that, he tries to tell himself. It was her last wish, and he had to respect it.

That thought doesn't help. He keeps weeping.

He's not been much of a crier, before now. He shed a fair few tears when his sister was arrested and his mother was floated, of course. And he's welled up over Octavia's safety plenty of times, and had a couple of rather emotional conversations with Clarke on the ground. But this is the first occasion since his childhood that he's let loose in proper heaving sobs, that have his shoulders shaking and leave him punching himself in the leg in a vain effort to try to hold it together.

It's just as well he chose himself a new bedroom before breaking down, he decides. Having his friends see him lose it like this would surely be the opposite of keeping calm and using his head and doing everything in his power to be a leader worthy of Clarke.

He never really _stops_ crying, as such. The tears slow, so gradually he scarcely notices it, but his eyes stay damp. He wonders if they'll be that way forever, now.

No one comes to check on him, and he is grateful for it. He cannot imagine interacting with another human being any time soon.

Eventually he decides that it might be time to take off his rubber suit. That's hardly a practical garment to sit around and mourn in. And once the suit is off, he finds himself tearing at his trousers, angry all of a sudden with the constricting fabric against his skin. He sheds them, and then sinks onto the bed of his new room, exhausted and grief-stricken, but at least more physically comfortable.

He's still wearing socks. He's still wearing the same socks he's been wearing for three days, in fact, sticking to his skin and so revolting he half wants to throw them overboard. But he can't do that, because he cannot bear to take them off. He cannot bear to see that patch of bare skin where Clarke's name ought to be.

He thinks of her dying wish, of using his head instead of stewing in useless emotion. She's dead, and he knows it, and he's going to have to face it sooner or later. He just needs to take off the damn socks.

He does it, for her. He does it because it is the first in an infinite series of difficult things he will have to do without her, now. He starts with the right, warming up to his task, peeling the disgusting garment off of his foot. And then he gathers his courage, and scrubs a hand across his eyes, and removes his left sock.

Her name is still there.

He can't believe it. He honestly cannot fathom that this could be true. He runs his fingers over the familiar shapes, picks out every single letter that hangs together to spell _Clarke Griffin_. For a moment, he wonders if the universe has made a mistake. Perhaps she really is dead, and it's only that his skin hasn't got the message?

No. He knows that's not a possibility. Soulmarks always disappear the moment a soulmate dies, and everyone knows it. He's seen it with his own eyes – he was there when Finn's name faded away from its spot on the back of Raven's neck.

There's only one possible conclusion, here. Clarke's alive.

That makes him hate himself for leaving her even more fiercely than before. If she's still alive, that means she hasn't had the privilege of a quick, painless death. That means she's going slowly, lingering, suffering untold agony and catastrophic burns, or wasting away from radiation sickness.

It means, he realises, that she has had time to notice that he has left her.

He can just see her in his mind's eye, gasping for breath, scorched eyes gazing at the spot in the lab where the rocket used to be as she wonders why he didn't wait for her.

He is, without doubt, the worst soulmate in the whole awful history of soulmates.

…...

He doesn't sleep that night. He can't. He stays up, keeping vigil as he thinks of Clarke taking her dying breaths, watching his foot for the moment her name will fade away.

By the time Raven knocks at his door the following morning, he has cramp in his leg, and Clarke is somehow still clinging on.

He hides his foot under the sheets, and calls to Raven to come in.

"How are you doing?" She asks, which is such a pointless question at this moment that it could almost be funny, he thinks.

It could almost be funny, if he had any intention of ever laughing again.

"How do you think I'm doing?" He is tempted to ask her how she was doing when she lost Finn. Raven is the only other person he knows with a soulmate, after all. But the situations are so different that he doesn't think the comparison is worthwhile – Raven did not condemn Finn to death, for starters. And apart from anything else, he's not ready to go around telling Raven about his soulmate when he never even managed to pluck up the courage to tell Clarke herself.

Raven stands and stares at him for a long time, in a sort of pained silence. If she's not going to say anything, he'd quite like her to piss off so he can get back on with staring at his foot. He's not used to seeing her lost for words, but then again, she's probably not used to seeing him red-eyed and devastated.

And then suddenly, she breaks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bellamy. It's all my fault." She is sobbing, now, and it nearly sets him off all over again.

"It's not."

"It _is._ I'm the one who broke the comms system. I'm the one who made us leave."

"I'm the one who agreed to leave." He argues back. "She – she wanted me to use my head. It was the last real conversation we had."

Raven doesn't have an answer for that. She just pulls him into an odd half-hug, deposits a ration bar at his side, and leaves.

…...

That first day sets the pattern for the week that follows.

He cries. He eats ration bars, provided by a Raven who bears little resemblance to the Raven he knew only days ago. And most of all, he stares at his left foot until his eyes ache.

Clarke's name is still there. As the hours stretch into days, he stops expecting it to disappear at any second. He stops imagining her dying in flames, and starts imagining a more long-drawn-out death from acute radiation sickness.

If she is dying of acute radiation sickness, she's doing it very slowly, he is forced to admit to himself on day five. Unbidden, images of Luna slip into his mind. A tiny voice in the back of his head whispers that the nightblood solution might have worked, after all.

No, he's pretty sure that's even worse. Leaving her to certain death made him a terrible soulmate. But leaving her when there was hope for her survival, leaving her to cling to existence on a barren planet alone?

That makes him absolutely irredeemable.

…...

On day seven, Raven comes in and sits down. That's a break from their wretched routine, and he doesn't know what to make of it. He can't sit around and chat to her for long – he needs to get back to fixating on Clarke.

"Bellamy. I know you're hurting. But you can't go on like this. You said Clarke wanted you to use your head? I think it's time you started coming out of your room and showing us how to run things up here."

He tries to think of a counter-argument, but he was only ever much good at debating things with Clarke. The sole objection he has, really, to Raven's words is that he won't be able to check in on whether Clarke is still breathing every ten seconds if he's wandering around the place in shoes and socks like a fully-dressed and functional leader.

There's a simple solution to this, he decides. He will simply have to run the Ring barefoot.

…...

He finds an old pair of flip-flops, in the end. He's something of a nerd where old Earth culture is concerned, and although he prefers the Classical era to the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, he is still aware of the cultural implications of flip-flops. He's aware that statesmen do not wear them to work, for example. But organising a group of seven people living on a space station is hardly the most formal of leadership positions, so he sticks with his unconventional footwear choice. Murphy gives him a lot of funny looks, but it's worth it, because he can check Clarke is still alive simply by arching his foot and peering down at his sole.

Echo tries to ask him about them one day as they sort through an abandoned room together.

"What are those shoes? Are they like the ones Sangedakru wear?" She asks, apparently genuinely interested.

She can keep her genuine interest. He'd toss her overboard in a heartbeat if it meant even the slightest chance of getting Clarke here instead, and he doesn't care if she knows it.

"They're flip-flops." He tells her, tone detached, as he separates scrap metal into various containers.

"Murphy thinks they're strange." She informs him, as if he doesn't already know. "I see him looking at you."

"Thanks for that, spy." He hisses, not caring if he hurts her. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious."

He abandons an old shower head and stalks out of the room.

He feels better right away, when he finds a quiet corner and is able to look down and check that Clarke's still surviving. Only then, within seconds, he starts feeling worse. Because he can see what's going on here – his temper fraying, him lashing out at others because he feels so damn furious with himself.

Next time, he tells himself, he mustn't snap at Echo. Next time he needs to remember who he's really angry at.

…...

He makes a little more effort, after that. He initiates movie nights, because they seem like the kind of sociable thing a group of people ought to do if they are to bond as a functional family during their time in space. He likes the way that watching a movie keeps him distracted, too – if he reads a book at the same time, he can overload his mind so much that he almost forgets what he's done, just for an evening.

His friends won't let him forget, though. With their thoughtful comments and unsolicited hugs and their insufferable _kindness_ , they keep reminding him that he's the worst kind of monster.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Harper tells him, hugging him carefully, and he hears it as _look what you threw away_.

"Chin up, man. She'd want you to be happy." Murphy tells him, with his customary directness, and he hears it as _she was kinder to you than you have been to her_.

"I'm here if you need anything. You have friends who care about you, remember that." Monty tells him, smiling softly, and he hears it as _Clarke is all alone down there_.

It is difficult, of course, because they are acting as if she's dead. And as weeks stretch into months, she is definitely _not_ dead, and he's beginning to dare to hope that it might stay that way for a while. But he cannot tell them that he knows she is still alive without explaining _why_ he knows she is still alive, and he cannot bear to do that.

…...

He knows it's selfish to keep the knowledge of Clarke's survival to himself. The guilt he feels for doing so is eating him up, piling on top of the guilt he already feels for leaving her alone down there. He really ought to tell his friends, but he doesn't know how or when.

Raven makes the decision for him, in the end.

"We should have a memorial for Clarke." Raven suggests one day. "I think it might be good for all of us, you know, to move on? We could have it to mark six months since we've been here."

"We can't have a memorial for her." Bellamy says, quiet but firm.

"Bellamy, I know it might be painful, but I think it would be a healthy way to get closure."

"We can't have a memorial for her."

"Bellamy -"

"We can't have a memorial for her, because _she's not dead_."

There is an horrific silence, and then everyone is speaking at once. Monty is murmuring sympathy, Harper is patting him on the arm. Raven is explaining, very carefully, as if he has lost his wits, exactly what happened in Praimfaya and that _Clarke burnt in the death wave, does he remember that?_

Murphy, for once in his life, has something useful to contribute.

"Why d'you say that, Bellamy?" He asks, genuinely giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"Because it's true. I'm not going mad, I'm not delusional. She's alive."

Raven is frowning. "That's not possible, it -"

"How do you know?" Murphy interrupts.

Bellamy sighs. This isn't exactly how he wanted this moment to go. He's never shown his soulmark to anyone before, and he rather imagined that, when he did, it would be in a romantic context, slipping his socks off as he slipped into bed with Clarke.

All the same, he knows what he has to do. He shakes the worn flip-flop off his left foot, and raises his leg, and rests his foot out on the table in front of him.

"Satisfied?" He asks, tone brittle with guilt and with the knowledge that tears are only ever one ill-timed memory away from him, these days.

There's another horrific silence, of course. Everyone realises what the writing on his sole means – he can read it in their eyes. Raven is gasping like a fish, and Harper is openly weeping, and even Echo manages to widen her eyes into an expression of shock.

It is Monty who pulls himself together to speak first. Calm, steady, reassuring Monty.

"If she's survived this long her chances are good. If she makes it to the green space she should be OK. You could see her again when we get back down there."

"Or she could die of the long-term effects of radiation, or of starvation, or of dehydration. Alone." Bellamy points out.

No one bothers to argue with him. They all know it's the truth.

…...

He makes a lot of wishes, that first year, as he gazes out into the vastness of space and tries not to stare too hard at the scorched Earth below.

He wishes for Clarke to survive. That will always be his greatest desire. And when he's feeling brave he wishes for more than that, too. He wishes for a happy future for the two of them, together in that patch of green. He wishes for a life in which she loves him even half as much as he loves her. And he wishes for the strength and good luck never to betray her or let her down again.

That, he knows, is a naive wish. If life has taught him nothing else, it has taught him that there is always some new challenge around the corner, some impossible situation where there are no good choices and people who love each other end up on opposite sides.

He wishes about his sister's safety, too. Clarke seems to have become his priority, since he went and realised he wasn't doing so well at pretending not to be in love with his soulmate. But his sister is still his responsibility, and he thinks of her wellbeing as often as he can tear himself from dreams of Clarke.

Some of his wishes are more far-fetched, and involve bending the past in a way he knows is impossible. He wishes that he had stayed with Clarke, or that she had run just a little faster.

Often he wishes that he'd told her about his feelings and his soulmark sooner. He wishes he hadn't wasted his entire youth cursing the name on his foot and wishing for literally any other. He knew who she was, even then, of course – the Griffin family were prominent on the Ark, and he wasn't about to go and admit to himself that there could ever be anything between him and a girl who was practically royalty. He wishes he hadn't pushed her away when they first landed, too, determined to keep disliking her despite the way he couldn't help but smile whenever he found himself in her presence.

He wishes he had just admitted his love for her to himself earlier, and most of all he wishes that he had told her before the death wave hit. At least then she'd know now how he feels about her, waiting those five years alone on a barren planet.

That's a lot of wishes, all things considered. All of them desperate, none of them realistic.

He tries to tell himself that it's OK to make a lot of wishes because there are a lot of stars up here. But none of them are shooting stars, as best as he can tell, and of course he can't ask Clarke to remind him of the rules of wishing on shooting stars anyway.

He can't ask her, because she's not here.

…...

Raven communicates with him rather more productively, now that she knows about the name on his sole. She has stopped tiptoeing agonisingly round him out of concern for Clarke's presumed death, and is instead doing her utmost to talk him out of the guilt he feels for leaving her behind, alive but alone.

He shouldn't enjoy talking to Raven about Clarke. He shouldn't tolerate suggestions that he is not to blame, or that what he did is forgivable. But despite himself, he finds that he does enjoy it. Raven is the only other person he knows with a soulmate – albeit a dead soulmate who cheated on her, of course – so she understands something of how he feels.

"Have you got another rocket like that one you went down to Earth in?" He asks her, one morning, not entirely joking.

"It's a bad idea, Bellamy. All I got out of that was a concussion and a nasty shock. Flying a piece-of-crap rocket down to see your soulmate sounds romantic, but it's not the smartest move I ever made."

"What was it like, with Finn? The soulmate thing?" He dares to ask outright the question he has been contemplating for months.

"Honestly? Confusing. It was so good when we were kids, but once he fell for Clarke I couldn't make sense of it. I know he thought he would never see me again, but still – I thought we were _soulmates_." Raven takes a deep breath and picks up a screwdriver, ostensibly to have something useful to do. "It wasn't until later that I worked it out. He was my soulmate, but I wasn't his."

Bellamy grimaces. "You really think that?"

"Yeah. You like the old stories. You know that sometimes one person has a soulmate, but it doesn't go both ways. That's one of the reasons it sucked, right? That's partly why no one does it any more."

"Except us."

"Except _you_." She frowns. "No. You're right, I bought into it, too. I just accepted that I loved him differently from how he loved me."

This whole conversation is making him very nervous. "Do you think that's common? Do you think that Clarke – was Lexa hers?"

Raven reverts to her normal self very abruptly, at that. She reclaims her usual expression of disdainful judgement and fixes him firmly in her stare.

"Bellamy. If there's one thing I know, it's that Clarke loves you every bit as much as you love her."

"She won't any more, if she ever did. Not after what I've done."

"She'll forgive you. You know she will. Stop obsessing over what you think you've done wrong and decide what you're going to do right. How are you going to show her you're sorry when we get down there? How are you going to tell her how you feel?"

He's never looked at it like that, before. He's never quite _dared_ to look at it like that until this moment. But now that Raven has suggested it, he figures he has four years to figure out a fool-proof plan to convince Clarke Griffin to give him a chance.

…...

His plan doesn't necessarily begin in the most conventional place. He starts by working out a lot, going on runs around and around and around the space station he cannot convince himself to call home, wrestling with Echo whenever he gets the chance. He figures this is a good idea, because being physically fit and in good shape cannot hurt his chances of being attractive to Clarke. He let himself go a bit, when they first got here, so it's time to get back to his best.

Of course, he's not so unhinged as to think that having a toned stomach will outweigh leaving her to burn. But all this exercise keeps his guilt at bay, too, keeps him distracted and exhausted until he can barely remember that Clarke should hate him, when he arrives home to her.

He works at being a good person, as well, but that's a harder thing to quantify. He can calculate the distance he has run or count the pull-ups he has completed, but he cannot find a way to measure doing better and using his head and leading the way she would want him to lead.

He doesn't think he's doing very well at any of that, if he's being honest. He struggles to balance the head and the heart, and he wonders if that's because his heart is still with her. Whenever he tries to stop being an emotional wreck he finds that he cuts himself off from human feelings altogether, becomes someone who resembles too closely for comfort that monster who murdered the grounders outside the gates of Arkadia.

There's no one much to murder up here, thank goodness. But he lashes out at Echo a lot, bitter that she is here and Clarke is not. He gets into fistfights with Murphy – sometimes under the cover of training, sometimes not.

It isn't until he snaps at Monty that things come to a head.

"Bellamy, come one, don't you want to try my new recipe?" Monty asks, knocking on Bellamy's door with every appearance of cheer.

Bellamy doesn't want to try Monty's new recipe. Monty's new recipe will be green, and gloopy, and revolting, just like Monty's old recipe was.

He wants to stay here, and spend the evening with Clarke – or, at least, spend the evening with the name imprinted on his sole and his hopeless wishes.

"I'm not hungry." He calls back, and it is more or less the truth. Food hasn't seemed very interesting to him, recently.

"Bellamy -"

"I said I'm not hungry." He snaps.

"You have to eat."

"You're not my keeper, Monty. Go eat your algae without me."

Of course, Monty has always been too tenacious for his own good. Next thing Bellamy knows, the door is being flung open, and he is cursing himself for leaving it unlocked.

"Bellamy -"

"Get out."

Monty ignores his rudeness, and perches on a corner of the bed. Being a largely non-confrontational guy, he does not challenge Bellamy for his poor manners, nor point out that taking an evening off to stare at his own foot is not particularly healthy behaviour.

No, he starts in a different place entirely.

"Jasper killed himself slowly." He says, which has Bellamy's head jerking up to meet his eyes in shock.

"Monty -"

"The overdose did it, technically. I know. But he killed himself slowly over months and months in which I could have done something. I _should_ have done something."

"Jasper's death isn't on you."

"No. It's on all of us. We were all supposed to be his friends, we all could see he wasn't well. We all could have reached out to support him. But we didn't, and he died just before we came up here." Monty pauses, swallows loudly. "And then we got here, and I don't know if you've noticed, but I have this other friend who lost someone he loved. Or at least, that's what we thought until it turned out she was still alive. And so, ever since I lost Jasper, I've been watching this other friend closely. I've been watching him skip meals and run for miles and lock himself in his room to cry. And I'm telling you, Bellamy, I've had enough of it. I'm not watching another friend kill himself slowly."

Bellamy isn't sure when he started crying. He's not sure when Monty started crying. But somehow, here they are, the pair of them sitting four feet apart and weeping openly.

Bellamy tries to explain what's going on in his head. It's difficult, because he doesn't really know the answer himself, sometimes.

"I'm not – I want to make it back down there." He explains, because that is one thing he's certain of. "I hate myself some days – most days. But I plan on making it through this."

Monty nods, resolute despite the tears. "Good. Then you need to eat your algae, and next time Raven tells you that you've run far enough you need to listen to her. And next time you want a date night with Clarke, read a book you want to share with her one day or something. Don't just sit here and hate yourself."

"It's not as easy as you make it sound."

"I know. That's what friends are for."

…...

He does a little better after that. Not better at taking care of himself, so much as better at letting his friends take care of him. He feels like a monster for permitting it, some days, because his guilt is so strong. But he needs to make it to the ground healthy and ready to put things right with Clarke, so he sucks it up and thanks Murphy every time he bangs on his bedroom door and hollers that it is time to eat.

His plan for making amends with Clarke gets a little more useful as the months pass by, too. What started out as an incoherent notion that he ought to throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness becomes gradually more rational. He ought to apologise for leaving her, yes, but also explain that he was trying to honour her by using his head and getting their friends to safety. And probably, rather than some dramatic public display of remorse that doesn't suit either of their characters, he ought to ask to speak to her alone.

Once she's forgiven him – which he's pretty optimistic she will, most days, because she's Clarke, and forgiving him for the unforgivable is her greatest talent – he'll make a start on showing her how special she is to him. If they're living in that green valley he might invite her to hunt with him, or they might sit together by the fire while he tells her about the books he has read on the Ring. That was a good idea of Monty's, he thinks. Building up a store of interesting conversation is much more useful than staring at his foot, even if his anxious side still likes to fixate on the sight of Clarke's name.

And then, later on, when the time is right, he might kiss her. He'll try to make sure the moment is perfect, that they haven't a worry in the world to get in their way. And hopefully, she'll kiss him back, and their close friendship will transition seamlessly into a romantic relationship.

Only when he's shown her how good they are together will he show her his soulmark. He doesn't want her to think he's chosen her by default, or through obligation. He wants her to realise that he loves her despite the name on his foot he was so determined to hate, not because of it. That their love is powerful enough not just to move mountains, but to change his stubborn mind.

…...

He tries not to snap at anyone, these days, but there is one major issue of contention between him and Raven.

"You still haven't fixed the radio." He points out, three years in. "You keep saying you'll do it one day but it never happens."

"Because I'm still scrounging together enough fuel to get us to the ground!" She protests.

"How can that take so long?"

"It's complicated, OK? Deconstructing nuclear warheads to salvage fuel isn't something to rush."

He sighs. He doesn't have an answer to that, so he keeps going on the offensive, instead. "And when are you going to get to the radio?"

She slumps, frowning, onto a chair. "Never, OK? Probably never. At this rate I'll be lucky if I've found enough fuel before the five years are up. And I'm not prioritising the radio over that because there would be no one to speak to."

"She's down there -"

"I _know_ she's down there, Bellamy. And believe me, if we could speak to her I'd fix the radio this week. But there's too much atmospheric radiation. It would be pointless. And it would waste time and delay us getting back down there to her."

No. He's not willing to accept that.

It looks like Bellamy Blake is going to learn how to repair a radio.

…...

He manages to elude Raven's notice for a couple of weeks, which is a minor miracle in itself. And when she does find him hidden away at the back of an engineering storeroom, she barely even bothers rolling her eyes.

"Found what you're looking for?" She asks him.

He coughs, awkward. Glances down at Clarke's name against the worn foam of his flip-flop to give himself a little confidence boost. "I don't really know what I'm looking for."

"Of course you don't. What have you done so far?"

"I read a book about the history of radios. And watched an old video tutorial about soldering on the Ark server. And since then I've been looking for components."

"Even though you don't know what components you're looking for."

"Pretty much, yeah."

She sighs heavily. "I wish my soulmate ever cared about me this much." She tells him, somewhere between sad and resigned. "I wish I knew what it was like, to be his soulmate too."

"Raven -"

"No. It's OK. You two are going to be disgustingly happy one day." Shaking her head, she strides back to the door.

He thinks that's that, but she surprises him with a parting shot.

"Ask Emori. She's not ready to handle a nuclear warhead yet, but I'm betting she could find her way around a radio."

The sentence is barely out of her mouth before he jumps to his feet. He has a helpful engineer to find.

…...

His plan grows more nuanced, as time continues its agonisingly slow march. He ought to tell Clarke about the months he spent trying to fix the radio with Emori, he decides. That would fit in sometime between kissing her and telling her that she's his soulmate, a further piece of evidence about just how deeply he loves her. And he imagines it would make her smile, if nothing else, the image of him being so desperate to speak to her that he spent weeks upon weeks trying to teach himself engineering and work alongside a new friend he barely knew before Praimfaya.

It shouldn't take this long to fix a radio. Only whatever they do, they can't seem to get through to Clarke, and Bellamy presumes that must mean the radio isn't working. If she was getting the messages, she'd reply – in his mind it is as simple as that.

So every time it doesn't work, they swap out a new component, or rebuild part of the circuitry. Emori doesn't seem to resent the use of her time, and that puzzles Bellamy.

"Why are you still helping me with this?" He asks, one day.

"She saved my life. She saved all of us – but she saved me more than once. She injected herself with nightblood so they wouldn't test me."

"So obligation, then? Gratitude?" He knows the words are a bit brutal, but he tries to keep his tone friendly.

"Respect. Anyone who would go to those lengths to save someone she barely knew is someone I want to be friends with." Emori says carefully. "I've never had a lot of people looking out for me. Clarke looks out for everyone, and I like that about her."

"Even though you barely know her."

"I figure I'll get to know her pretty quickly once we get this radio working." She says, with that wolfish grin of hers.

…...

They never do get the radio working – or at least, they never do get a response. In the end they admit defeat and beg Raven for just five minutes of her time.

"Sure." She agrees, much to their surprise.

"You mean it? You'll help us?"

"I'm doing OK with the fuel. I can take a morning off to help you guys out. You've been working on it a long time."

At the end of the morning, it is the worst possible news. The radio is definitely transmitting – Raven has checked, and thoroughly – so there must be another reason they are not getting through. Either the radiation is blocking them, or Clarke is not able to reply.

"That doesn't have to mean anything bad, though." Raven rushes to reassure them. "She might just not have a radio. It doesn't mean she's sick or anything."

Devastated by Raven's judgement, Bellamy doesn't reply. He simply arches his foot, stares carefully at his sole. He can't hear Clarke's voice – and he won't be able to, any time soon – but at least he knows she's still breathing.

…...

He still wishes, as he looks out onto the vastness of space each night. He still wishes that he told her sooner, wishes that he was less of a coward where Clarke Griffin is concerned. But some of his wishes grow more practical, too. He wishes that she stays safe and well until he can get back to her. He wishes that the journey back to the ground will pass without incident, and that the century-old rocket will hold itself together one last time.

Most of all he wishes that he'll find the courage to tell her what he should have told her years ago, if ever the fates or the universe should grant them the good fortune to meet again.

And sometimes, when he's feels really selfish, he looks out at the stars and wishes that she might find it in her to love him, even after every monstrous thing he's done wrong.

…...

By the time five years rolls around, Bellamy's plan is set. In fact, he has it almost _timetabled_ , so thoroughly has he dreamed about what he might say to Clarke when they land. He wonders if this is what she meant, when she said to use his head. Somehow, he's still not convinced that it suits him. Even this plan revolves around baring his heart, not being a creature of cold logic.

"We're leaving in three days." Raven announces over breakfast.

Of course, every head turns to look at him. Whether that's because he's kind of the leader round here, or because he's in love with Clarke, he's no longer sure.

"Great." He says, nodding carefully.

"Great?" Emori asks, brow quirked.

"That's it?" Murphy queries, disbelieving.

He wishes he could explain it all. He wishes he had the words to convey how terrified he is, even now. What if she dies in those three days? What if she survives almost five years alone, knowing that he left her, just to lose her grip on life the very day he ought to return to her? What if there is an accident with the rocket, and he dies, and never gets to tell her after all?

Worse still, what if they do find each other once more, only for him to make a mess of it? What if, for the very first time, she finds that she cannot forgive him?

What if he tells her she's his soulmate, and she laughs in his face?

…...

They do not die in a fiery rocket crash, so that's good news. And Clarke's name was still in its proper place when he suited up before leaving the Ring, so as he sits strapped into his seat and watches Raven open the door of the ship, he's feeling cautiously optimistic.

Raven announces it is safe for them to undo their restraints and take their helmets off, so that is what they do. Bellamy can't believe how good it feels to breathe real Earth air again – somehow it even _tastes_ better than the oxygen that was endlessly recirculated on the Ring. He knows they need to think about unpacking the ship and choosing a safe place to set up camp, but right now he is a bit preoccupied by turning in silly circles like an overexcited child.

So much for using his head.

"What now?" It is Echo who asks the question.

"I want to look for Clarke." He announces, because of course he does.

"Yeah, you're going to scour this entire valley, on your own, the day we land. That's going to go well." Raven's sarcasm is not lost on him. "Stay here, Bellamy. She'll have seen the rocket, don't you think? She'll come to us."

"What if she doesn't?" He asks, but that's not really what he's thinking. He knows that Raven's speaking sense, but he thinks that the romantic gesture of desperately searching for Clarke probably wouldn't hurt his case.

"She will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because she's already here." Raven tells him, grinning widely, gesturing beyond his shoulder.

Stunned, excited, and just a little terrified, he turns to look in the direction she pointed.

Yes. That's Clarke, alright.

All of a sudden he is running, tripping over his unaccustomed boots in his hurry to get to her. She's running, too – flat-out _sprinting_ , more like – and when they meet in the middle, they slam into each other so hard the breath whooshes right out of him. He hugs her, hard, relishing the living warmth of her in his arms. She seems healthy, as far as he can tell from this limited evidence. She's maybe lost a little weight, but she still feels solid and her complexion is as healthy as ever.

Most reassuring of all, she even smells the same, when he buries his nose in her neck.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs against her skin. "I'm so sorry I left you behind."

"Hey, hey. It's OK. I wanted you to survive, and that's what you did." She has her hands still tight around his waist. "I missed you, too."

That's a good start to the plan, he decides. He wants to get on with the next step – evidence of how sorry he is, proof of how much he missed her – but Monty interrupts them, throwing his arms around as much of Clarke as he can reach.

She breaks her hug with Bellamy, then, embracing each of her friends in turn. He's pleased to see Emori hug her, and looks forward to watching the two of them pursue a friendship. Even Echo wraps her in a brief embrace, to his surprise. And this is all rather touching, but he wants Clarke back in _his_ arms, thank you very much.

He gets his wish – or, rather, the moment their friends are done hugging her, he reclaims her and holds her tight once more.

"None of you seem surprised I'm alive." She says, a slight tilt of a question to her tone, even as she keeps hugging him.

He freezes at once, realising his mistake.

"No." He agrees mildly. "We aren't."

"How did you know? Did you get my radio calls?" She asks excitedly.

He pulls back just far enough to be able to look at her face and have a coherent conversation. "Radio calls?"

"Yeah. I called you every day. Did you get them?"

"We didn't. We had a working radio but the signal wasn't getting through." Emori explains. "You called us every day?"

Suddenly Clarke averts her gaze and starts speaking to his chest. "I called Bellamy every day." She clarifies, a nervous shake in her voice. "That's not how you knew I was alive?"

That decides it, in the end. He could stand around all day failing to find an excuse for why he knew she was alive, trying to disguise the news of the name imprinted on his sole. But he resolves, on hearing her words, that it would be a bit of a waste of time. She would hardly have called him every day if she didn't feel _something_ for him, he's pretty sure.

So much for the plan.

He shakes that thought aside. He practised using his head for five years, because Clarke wasn't there. But now they're back together, he's got her for that, and he can get on with acting from the heart once more.

He kisses her, hard and fast, five years of pent up grief and adoration twisted in knots. And she kisses him back, but it's more tentative, and it has him pulling away uncertainly.

"Is this OK?" He asks, cursing himself for not taking things a little more slowly and sensibly.

"It's OK." She assures him, with a cautious smile. "Are you sure you want to?"

He could laugh at that. As if she's the one wondering whether he's interested, after everything he has put her through.

"I want to. I want _you._ " He assures her.

The next kiss is not tentative in the slightest.

…...

The do stop kissing eventually. It's a shame, but he understands that it has to happen. Clarke explains that she has the rover hidden just in the treeline, and Raven takes charge of getting the rocket unloaded and the rover packed.

Bellamy makes a point of hindering this as much as possible. Not because he wants to annoy Raven, or hates the idea of getting the rocket emptied this side of midnight. Just because he is never letting go of Clarke's hand again, and it turns out that's not a very practical contribution to lifting a load of luggage around.

"You still haven't told me how you knew I was alive." Clarke reminds him, frowning slightly, as they try to coordinate carrying a crate between them whilst still holding each other's free hands. It's so very _them_ , the combination of practicality and tenderness, tangled with hard conversations, that it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

"I will tell you." He promises. "I want to explain it all to you. But – could we talk about it later? Without everyone else around?"

She nods, and he is pretty certain her eyes can see right through him. "Sure. There's something I haven't told you yet, either."

"There is?"

"Yeah. It's nothing bad. It's really good, actually." She grins. "I have a child here with me. A nightblood girl, Madi. We found each other when I made it here."

"You have a kid now?" She nods, smiling broadly, and he decides that happiness looks good on her. _Everything_ looks good on her, to his mind, but happiness suits her most of all.

"She's so excited about meeting you. I told her all about my friends in the sky."

"And she heard you call me on the radio." He adds, fishing for a little more information about that.

"Yeah. She thought that was really romantic." She says, eyes downcast, as if she still can't believe she's allowed to describe their relationship in those terms.

He can't believe his good luck, either. He can't believe how quickly they have picked up where they should have left off. But he's not complaining, and he's not about to challenge the first truly wonderful thing that has ever happened to him on the ground.

He leans over the crate, uncomfortable though it is, and reaches in for yet another kiss.

…...

They find their private moment later that evening, when Madi has been put to bed – after much protesting that she wants to stay up and talk to Bellamy – and all their friends have been encouraged to get lost and find rooms for themselves. Bellamy is pretty sure that they were anything but subtle in their attempts to clear the room, but apparently he's allowed to be obvious about scheming to have alone time with Clarke, after everything his friends have seen and learned in the last five years.

This isn't how Bellamy thought landing day would go, but he no longer cares. He no longer feels the need to cling to his months-long plan of seduction and showing Clarke he is worthy of her love. And they haven't the time, anyway – they're off to see what they can do to dig out the Polis bunker, tomorrow.

They've waited long enough, he decides. Today is the day to bare his sole to her.

"You ready to tell me how you knew I was alive, now?" Clarke asks, leaning into his side and asking the question with more curiosity than annoyance.

"Yeah." He swallows. "But first I want you to know that I love you, OK? I love you, for who you are, and what I'm about to tell you doesn't change that. You got that?"

"Bellamy, what are you -?"

"Have you got that, Clarke? I love you for who you are. For the way you're warm and strong at the same time. For the way that you make me a better person, and that even in the worst situations there's something to smile about when I'm with you. And I didn't think it was possible, but I love you even more since I met Madi and saw how great you are with her." None of that was in his original script, but he's having to improvise, here.

"I've got that." She says faintly. "I love you, too. I'm annoyed with you for beating me to say it." She grins up at him. "I love you for giving me hope in the darkest times. I love you because you care about everyone so damn much, and because you make me feel like you're there to care for me even though I don't always like to admit I want someone to take care of me."

He gets a bit distracted, then, by kissing her. He knows he has something to show her, but he wasn't expecting to end up with that heartfelt declaration of love along the way, and he feels like it needs to be celebrated.

At last, she pulls away, a small frown marring her brows. "Are you ever going to tell me this mysterious secret?"

He nods. Swallows thickly. This is the moment – the moment he has put off for too long, and almost ended up missing out on altogether.

He reaches down, and unlaces his left boot. He can feel Clarke's eyes on him, can feel the weight of her stare, but he keeps going, slowly, methodically working the laces, then easing the boot off his foot.

"Bellamy...?"

"Clarke." Her names feels cloying in his mouth, the sharp consonants trying to stick in his throat.

And then he is taking his sock off, and holding out his foot to her, and trying to remember to breathe.

He doesn't know what he expected. Crying, perhaps, or anger that he never shared this with her before. Maybe even disbelief or confusion.

He certainly did not expect calm acceptance, and her bending to press soft kisses to his sole.

"Clarke?" He asks, confused at this turn of events. Her lips tickle slightly, and he's a bit embarrassed to think how gross and clammy his foot must be right now.

"Bellamy." She whispers, almost reverent, still pressing those kisses to his skin.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, because she's giving nothing away and he needs to know. He seems to remember he used to be rather better at reading her, once upon a time, but he likes to think he might have a good few years to relearn that skill if he plays his cards right.

"I'm thinking that this makes a lot of sense." She tells him, smiling broadly.

"Yeah?" He prompts, thinking there must be more hysteria to come, somewhere along the line.

"Yeah. I've known for a while now that you're it for me. I got the same impression about your feelings by the way you picked things up today. It makes sense that the universe agrees with us."

"So that's it? You're not... angry that I didn't tell you?"

"You must have had your reasons. I know you love me, and that's what I'm supposed to be holding onto, right? That's what you just said." She presents that thought as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

He laughs. That's the only thing he can do. He laughs with sheer joy and reaches forward to cup her face in his hands and bring her towards him for a searing kiss.

"I love you." He tells her again, for good measure.

"I think I've got that now." She mutters against his lips. "I love you, too. You'd know that if you ever got my radio calls."

"I'm sorry -"

"Stop apologising." She reprimands him sharply. "You can apologise tomorrow. Right now I want you to show me what happens when a pair of soulmates finally get together after years of waiting for each other."

He doesn't take orders from her, of course. But he does love her, and want to make her happy, so there's only one thing he can do, here.

He's going to set her world on fire tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
